Witnail and I: Nursing a snake
by finmagik
Summary: About six months after the movie life is coming up roses and daffodils for Marwood. The play he's in is a hit, he's engaged to the woman who played the leading lady , acting jobs are lining up left and right. So why visit Withnail?


It was Marwood realized a very bad masochistic urge to see Withnail again. To be in that squalid flat with an acid tongue drunk who whore a friend for a horrible weekend in the country. Marwood didn't need that right now. The play he had been had great reviews and was still running. His agent was getting calls left and right. And not only that he'd met Celia who played the love interest in the play. She had become his love interest in real life. More then that, really they were engaged. She was everything that his old life wasn't. Pretty, clean, a fount of optimism and joy. He could see himself with her as his life got better and the jobs would continue for years: tv, radio, stage, maybe movies? They'd have nice somewhere to live and children. She seemed she'd want children. He'd met her Mother and Father and they liked him no lying no pretense. They liked him. And afterwards in her lovely flat, in her bed making love everything was perfect and lovely it just seemed his old life was a nightmare, a fever dream. And this was the reality. Maybe that's why he had to visit Withnail.

It was because they were in London, an excuse really.

Celia was sitting across from him at the restaurant table. It was one the best restaurants in London. The food was excellent. A man from another table had recognized him from the play and sent over a bottle good a very champagne with compliments. Witnnail would know about the vintage and tell him why it was good. Celia didn't know why it was good, neither did he. Also Marwood had paid for the food himself.

"I have to go," He said to Celia.

"Why? Everything you've told this fellow he doesn't sound like very nice person," She said.

"He was my friend," He said. "I want to see how he's been. I won't be to long."

"Alright," She said. "Just don't be to long."

"I won't," He said. "I don't think I could stand to be in that flat again for very long."

She smiled and clutched his hand across the table. She was pretty, her nose was pert, her make up was perfect, her eyes eyes large and blue and her hair was blonde and done in the latest style. He knew it smelled like her very nice shampoo.

They hired a cab to take them down to the cab in Camden town. It was much dingier then Marwood remembered. And it was raining. The rubble from the block of flats had been cleared away and new construction was under way. Celia stood by the doorstep with him.

"Aren't you going to buzz the doorbell?" she asked.

"It doesn't work," said Marwood. "It only worked when we first moved in and even then Withnail didn't answer it."

"Oh," she said. "I think I'll wait down here."

It was lucky they had brought and umbrella.

The door wasn't locked, it never was. Marwood walked up. He wondered if Withnail had found another flatmate maybe Danny and Presuming Ed had moved in, at least the place would be slightly cleaner. Also it would supplement Withnail's fondness for drugs nicely. The stairway was dark and smelled like rot and mildew. The door of the flat was open. He knocked there was no answer.

"Withnail?" He called. "Withnail, it's me, I've come for visit. I know you must hate me for rubbing your face in it. But I just wanted to... I thought I could help you get a job..."

That should have done something, even if Withnail had been ignoring him up till now, his pride would have ruffled by that. That lowly Marwood could help the great Withnail get a job. Withnail should have burst out furious ranting cigarette in hand. But there was nothing. And the flat was dark. Marwood poked the door it creaked open. Might as well. It smelled like decay and rot was dark as anything near to city lights could be. He didn't want to trip over empty bottles or anything else on the floor. So he fumbled for the light switch. He knew the state this place was usually in. The smell of decay was strong and a horrible thought crossed his mind. What if Withnail was dead and Marwood knew that he was a coward. And if his friend's corpse was anywhere he didn't want to see it. No, no the flat always smelled like this, just hadn't noticed before. He switched on the light. Withnail was on the sofa, his miserable coat wrapped around his haggard frame. He didn't stir when the light was turned on. There was dried sick on his mouth, on the sofa and a puddle of it on a floor. Nothing new really. Empty bottles by his arms, wine, liquor, and empty pill bottle. Marwood felt queasy. Was Witnail dead?

Marwood picked up the pill bottle the label said: 'Methaqualone' probably got it from Danny who got from who knows where. Marwood wanted to run, and scream this was so bad. He didn't want to be here. Withnail had done a very dumb thing. Now was dead. He chucked the pill bottle back at the sofa prepared to go back to Celia forgetting it all. But the pill bottle struck Withnail's toe and the toe twitched? Yes, it twitched. So not dead. He got close to Withnail's body. His friend's eyes were half open but rolled back so you could see the whites, not pleasant. He could feel breathing on his skin. He felt Withnail's wrist there was a faint pulse. Also he noticed Withnail was naked under that long coat, not even a dingy pair of Y-fronts. It was vaguely fascinating and dsigusting. So Withnail was alive for now. Near the vomit there was a note. It wasn't a note really. Most people when they about kill themselves write a simple thing or so Marwood supposed. This was two pages of ranting about how unfairly Withnail had been unfairly dealt a bad hand by life. Also there was mentions of him and clippings attached with reviews of the play. Marwood took it,folded it and put it in his trouser pocket. Marwood wanted to leave, maybe Withnail would get better later wake up. Shake this off like so many close calls and then. No he wouldn't, Marwood felt in the pit of his stomach that leaving Withnail like this would be leaving him to die. Also what would Celia think if he did this and later it as published in the paper about Withnail being found dead in his flat. He couldn't lie to her.

So he ran down into the rain.

"Celia! Celia!" He called. " It's Withnail He's overdosed! Booze and pills! We need to get him to the hospital, find a phone! Call a cab! I'll get him down stairs!"

"Oh no! That's horrid!" Celia called before dashing to find the nearest phone booth.

So in their best clothes, through the raining London night they took a very fast and blurry cab ride. The unconscious Withnail on his lap, mostly his lap. Celia was uncomfortable with the idea of a strange man on her lap. They ended up in the causality ward but not for long. When the doctors what they had brought in they rush him for treatment.

"Why did you leave him so long!" yelled one doctor. "He could die you know!"

"I found him like that," Marwood protested.

The Doctor gave a frustrated sigh and rushed back to the gurney. "We might be to late you know!"

"Oh, Peter," Celia clutched Marwood's hand calling him by his first name. "This is horrid. Your poor friend."

Marwood never saw what they did to Withnail that night the doctors and nurses had wheeled his friend off behind closed doors. However they sat up in the waiting room for hours the suicide note in Marwood's pocket. His finacee's head leaning against his shoulder. She had just started to sleep. Then the doctor came in.

"It was hard going for a while," said the doctor. "Your friend's body has taken lots of abuse over the years. I was surprised but he is alive. But he is. He's asleep. You can visit him. Wait for him to wake up. "

It was then that Marwood did something he would later come to regret, something that ripped his perfect life to shreds. But then it seemed like a good idea. A kindly nurse lead them to the ward where Withnail was in a drugged sleep. Possibly the the best drugs ever and very hard to get. He was very pale and looked so peaceful sleeping there in a hospital gown. Marwood and Celia watched him sleep and at times slept themselves. Celia was asleep when Withnail finally opened his blue eyes, blinking he saw Marwood and spoke.

"You fucker." Said Withnail.

"Me?" Marwood said.

"You ruined it," said Withnail. "I was going to off myself. I had everything all prepared and you pounced in and ruined it for the second time."

"Second time?" Marwood said his brow furrowing.

"Don't play coy," said Withnail. "The shotgun, after I walked home from the railway station I was going to blow my brains out. Put it in mouth, all ready, pulled the trigger, nothing. Turns out you took all the shells."

"How do you know it was me?" Marwood said.

"Who else would it be," Withnail said. "I need a drink."

"We're in a hospital," said Marwood.

"So? Do have anything on you?" said Withnail.

"No," Marwood said.

"How bout a fag then?" said Withnail.

Marwood searched through his jacket and pulled out a cigarette and a lighter he handed it to Withnail. Withnail lit it and took a drag.

"I read your note," said Marwood. "You know don't have be so miserable, Withnail there are ways to get better.."

"...There is nothing wrong with me.." Withnail said. "So that's the leading lady you found love with?"

He was looking at Celia who had fallen asleep on the chair.

"Yes," Marwood said and smiled. "I love her. She's wonderful."

"She's alright, I suppose," Withnail said. "Maybe we should talk when she wakes up."

Marwood looked at Withnail strangely. "About what?"

"About things you've said and done when you were completely arseholed with me," Withnail said there was gleeful malice in his blue eyes, he sucked down more smoke off the cigarette.

An alarm bell went off in Marwood's head. He had said and done some pretty stupid things when pissed or high with Withnail but nothing... well... nearly nothing Ceila should care about. Just normal drunk bloke things really. Well nearly normal.

"Oh why would Celia care?" said Marwood.

"Why would she care? 'Oooh Withnail I've never sucked cock before, can I suck yours?' does that sound familair?" said Withnail still smiling.

"Yes I just said that right, right?" Marwood said.

"Well you begged so much, I had to let you," said Withnail.

And Marwood's eyes went wide. "I-I-I- I don't remember that."

"You were completely and totally pissed that's why," Withnail said. "Blacked out I dare say. Woke up with a hangover and complaining of a nasty taste in your mouth."

"You wouldn't," said Marwood. "You wouldn't tell her. I love her and I don't want you ruining this."

"Of course not," said Withnail. "But you and her will piss off. And leave me alone to do whatever I like with my life."

"Fine, fine," said Marwood.

"Or I shall be forced to tell her about that and the other times you don't remember." said Withnail.

"It was more then once?" Marwood said.

"Maybe," Withnail said. "Perhaps, old man. I am not saying right now."

Marwood left the room. He had saved Withnail's life, but Withnail didn't want saving and now the bastard. Because Wihtnail was and had always been a black hearted bastard would destroy everything that was currently making him happy. Fine, then he'd leave Withnail to booze, drugs, squalor and self-destruction. Let Withnail take his life and maybe the body would found much later after it had been half eaten by rats and roaches. Marwood closed his eyes. It hurt to see this but Withnail just shit on you when you wanted to help him.

And that's when he felt a tap on his shoulder. It was a mousy woman in a lab coat under it she wore a beige turtle neck and some kind of black skirt.. She looked a like a doctor sort of. Like she'd had medical training but hadn't used it in a while. She smiled nervously at Marwood.

"Hello," She said. "I'm well, I'm in charge of dischargng such around here. You brought in Mr. Tarquin Hogmanay Withnail Esquire right?"

"Tarquin?" Said Marwood.

"Yes, that's his first name." Said the woman. "I'm Dr. Josphine Dorian, you know like the short story. Only I don't have portrait that doesn't age anywhere. Mores the pity. The thing is... your friend well he's not in good shape. We are worried about him very worried." She bit her lip.

"You are?" He said.

"Well from what we saw last night, he's an alcoholic and a heavy drug user if not an addict." She said.

"Yes," Marwood nodded.

"Does he have a job?" she asked.

"No," Marwood said.

"Oh," She said. "Well figured as much. We went through the records we have made calls. He's disowned by all his family."

"Disowned?" Marwood said. "Last I heard they just wouldn't speak with him."

"Well we contacted them apparently there was an incident with a flaming christmas pudding and his father wanted to have him arrested for arson. His mother who we spoke to made sure charges were not pressed. But he still was disowned." Said Dr. Dorian.

Marwood wondered what combination of booze, pills, christmas dinner and flaming pudding would lead to arson around Withnail. The holidays had come and gone since then. Withnail had never gone back for Christmas but he was always there with Withnail maybe...

"He has an uncle Monty who is very fond of him," said Marwood.

"Well, the flaming pudding heavily involved this uncle as target. They had an argument over the true identity of Shakespeare." said Dr. Dorian. "At least that from what I gathered from Mrs. Withnail."

"Oh," Marwood sighed he not feeling good about this.

"You your friend...Tarquin..."said Dr. Dorian.

"He prefers to go by Witnail," said Marwood.

"Well your friend would interested in enrolling in a new rehabilitation program for people like him. He'd dry out and get off drugs for good. It would hard considering we don't think his body would be able to function very well with out alcohol at first. But at our new facilities we would make it very good that we have therapists and eventually he could-" She looked like she was very excited about this she had brochure on her clipboard it was tempting.

"No he wouldn't go. Not of his own free will. And if someone made him. He'd leave as soon as he could, even if had to escape," said Marwood.

"Oh," She sighed and her shoulders drooped. "We really don't think the best course of action is letting back into society at large. Are you sure there isn't anything you can do?"

Marwood thought and he thought time passed in his head slower then in reality. He'd done drugs and boozed it up. Now it was hardly anything but a small tipple or a joint with cast mates now and then. And he knew what the doctor was saying was right. And that Wihtnail was as good as dead if he did what Withnail wanted. He told Withnail he'd let him do what he please. But then... He had to be better then this.

"I'll take him in," said Marwood.

"Oh good," Dr. Dorian said. "Thank you. You are a good friend."

A plan had formed. The play would run one more week, he knew this. He would rent a small house in the country. Not like the dreadful cottage they'd been in. Something nice he would get a tour it before he rented it. Two bedrooms, two floors. Electricity, running water, nice. Maybe it Wiltshire? Celia, Withnail and him would all go there. There Withnial would dry out and get off of drugs. Marwood had no idea how this would happen. Maybe Celia's positive attitude could help and the country air and bed rest. Who knows. It would work. It had to. In between the last week Wihtnail would spend the time in the hospital not the worst place to be really, the medical professionals could deal with messier side effects of drying out and him.

He went back to the hospital room. Celia was awake, she and Withnail were talking and smoking. She was laughing. Withnail was being charming.

"I like your friend," she said. "He is so charming and witty."

Withnail grinned at him. Marwood sat down to explain the plan. There an odd nagging at the back of his head. He ignored it. This had to go right. The sun was shining outside. Everything would be okay, right?


End file.
